


Marching to the Beat of His Own Drum

by kuwdora



Category: Little Mosque on the Prairie
Genre: Character of Color, Community: eid_ka_chand, Eid al-Fitr, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Islam, Marriage, Ramadan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-12
Updated: 2010-09-12
Packaged: 2017-10-11 16:33:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/114411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuwdora/pseuds/kuwdora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four times Nate didn’t surprise Amaar but one time he really did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marching to the Beat of His Own Drum

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Eid al-Fitr 2010. No warnings. Spoilers for end of season 4.

**i. clown in town**

Amaar took a strawberry kiwi juice box from the table and worked to open the straw when the children behind him errupted in giggles. He turned in time to see Petunia, a woman with a painted white face and large red nose. Her wig was an unusual shade of pink and her overalls a purple. She hopped down from the gazebo stairs and offer the balloon dog to the Jennifer, the birthday girl and wobbly twirled. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Nate strolling along the sidewalk, clearly captivated with the sight of Petunia blowing up another balloon.  
   
Amaar didn't see a designated garbage bag so he pocketed the wrapper for his straw and sipped from the juice box as Nate sidled up beside him.

"I heard there was a clown in town," Nate said."I _love_ clowns," Nate said. "Has she done any magic tricks yet?"

"Not yet," Amaar said after his sip.

"Ohh, juice!" Nate's delight reminded Amaar of the eight year olds in the audience, especially by the way he happily took some oreos from the table into his possession.  
The kids applauded and cheered as Petunia handed off a yellow butterfly-balloon to Safeera.

"What kind of animal starts with the letter 'g'?" Petunia asked the children.

"Gerbil!"

"Goat!"

"Goldfish!"

"Good, good. What else?" Petunia asked, holding her hand up to her ear to listen for more responses.

The elderly Mrs. McKinnon, neighbor to the the birthday girl and her family, was enjoying the show from the back row where there were still some free seats and Amaar motioned for Nate and him to sit as the children continued to yell their answers.

"Gorilla!"

"Giraffe!"

"Giraffe! Excellent!" Petunia said, pulling several red balloons from her pouch and began to inflate them.

"My name's Jeff!" one of the younger children blurted out in the midst of excitement.

"Jeff needs a giraffe? How do you ask?" Petunia said.

"Please!" Jeff said.  
   
Petunia kneeled, allowing Jeff to watch her hands move and deftly twist the balloon into a recognizable shape. She paused and honked her nose at one of the smaller children in the front row who laughed. When she looked up, her wrists froze in mid-twist. The sudden absence of Nate's fidgeting caught Amaar's eye.

Amaar traced Petunia's stoney gaze to Nate who had turned as white as Petunia's makeup. The balloon popped in her hands from twisting it too tight and the kids squeaked.

Nate flinched, sending a spray of fruit punch from Nate's juice box onto Amaar's shirt and face.

"Hey!" Amaar yelped, almost leaping out of the chair and barely managed to keep himself from squeezing his own juice box in surprise.

"Oh, _crap_," Nate said and Amaar's angry look went unnoticed. Nate was still staring at Petunia. Then eyes flicked back to Amaar and he frowned. "I'll, uh, buy you a new shirt tomorrow." Nate gulped, chuckled, staring at Petunia. Amaar wasn't good at reading lips but he's pretty sure Nate mouthed _that's my ex_. He whispered, "gotta go," and ran off so quick he knocked his chair over while making his escape.

Petunia gave the children an earnest apology and picked up where she had left off, but her eyes followed Nate until he disappeared from view.

Amaar looked down at his stained shirt and sighed. Mrs. McKinnon offered him a handkerchief that accepted with a gracious 'thank you'. He wiped his chin and righted the overturned chair and watched the rest of the show like nothing had happened.

  
**ii. pied piper**

Amaar tapped his keyboard a few times, opening a copy of minesweeper for a few moments of distraction when Nate rapped on the door and sauntered inside.

"Yo," Nate and plopped down in the chair across from him.

"Kinda busy," Amaar said.   
   
"No you're not. Wanna know how I know? Because I know you're already done because Baber was in Fatima critiquing your upcoming sermon. That's what you get for having a best friend who is a journalist."  
   
"It's Eid al-Fitr and it sounds like you were just in the right place at the right time," Amaar said.  
   
"Nah, I've got a nose for these things," Nate said and sat on the edge of his chair, hands clasped together. "Anyway. I need a favor."  
   
Amaar tilted his head and found himself inadvertently scooting away from Nate. "The answer's probably going to be no."  
   
"Wait, hear me out," Nate said, hopping to his feet and turned and leaned against the chair, fingers tapping the rhythmically against the wood.  
   
 Amaar shrugged. "Fine. What is it now?"  
   
"Important question: do you play an instrument?"  
   
"No."   
   
Nate's entire body slumped and his eyebrows turned inward in thought.

"Are you sure? Trumpet? Drums? What about the kazoo? Ukelele?"   
   
"No, I don't play an instrument. Why?" Amaar said, growing suspicious.  
   
"Well, we're down two people for the annual Mercy-Odina-Lakefield parade that kicks off Wheat Week," Nate said. "And since I jumped in, we're only one down. But if you could help out, then we'd be be able to make some tunes and make the crowd go wiii-iild," he said, miming an air guitar.  
   
"What do you play?" Amaar asked. Nate cracked his fingers and his face broke into a wolfish grin.  
   
"The piccolo. 4 years of being the only guy in the woodwind section had it's benefits."  
   
Amaar rolled his eyes. Nate pointedly cleared his voice.  
   
"Okay, how do you feel about holding our banner? You could help lead the parade. You'd like that, wouldn't you? Being the leader and all? "

Amaar leaned back in his chair. He still had things to take care of in the next few weeks. Preparations for sermons, arranging Saturday night's dinner, going back on Fred's show to discuss Eid al-Fitr with the community at large. But a day outside, in the community, doing something possibly fun was appealing. And he did like parades. And yeah, he could hold a banner. The Prophet, peace be upon him, Amaar thought, once said _'the best of you is he who is of most benefit to others._ He could make the time to help.

"When is the parade?" Amaar asked.

"Next weekend," Nate said, holding out for hope.

"It sounds like fun," Amaar said. Nate's enthusiasm was infectious.

"Awesome! You're the man! We have rehearsal tomorrow afternoon, meet us at the park around 3."

"Sounds good," Amaar said, tilting his head and smirked. "The piccolo, huh?"  
 "They used to call me the Pied Piper. Though I think that was less to do with my musical ability and more because everyone knew I had this glass pipe I inherited from a friend's ex-girlfriend and she used to get me some marijuana. And hey, speaking of which, you hungry? Want to get a bite to eat? I could actually go for some pie right about now," he said, motioning towards the door.

Amaar looked at his watch and smiled. "Not right now. But you should stop by the mosque tonight after sunset for dinner. Fatima will have her famous curry and I'm pretty sure Layla's making a carrot cake."

"Curry and cake? I'll totally be there," Nate said. "But now I'm going to go get some pie."  
 "Don't spoil your appetite," Amaar said.

  
**iii. a trivial comedy for serious people**

Amaar thanked Fatima for the service and took his plate and drink from the counter, following Nate to their usual booth.

"Alright, I've got two weeks off. What should I do?" Nate said, elbows on table, ready to tear into his burger.

"I remember vacations," Amaar said, wistful sigh caught in his throat.. "Paid ones. With skiing. I'm guessing there won't any new issues of the paper while you're out."

"Oh, no. I've got my intern working on that," he said.

"You have an intern now?"

Nate nodded. "Oh, yeah. Layla's helping me out for some school credit."

"You mean she's going to produce the whole paper while you gone?"

"You learn by doing, Amaar."

He rolled his eyes and cut his own burger in half to make for easier handling. "So you don't have any plans?"

"Wanna go on a roadtrip?" Nate asked. "I could pack up the cooler, grab some mix tapes and it could be us and the lonely highway."

Amaar tried not to frown. He didn't like indulging every one of Nate's whims but there was a part of him that appreciated Nate's friendly badgering to bring him out of his usual social circles. It was refreshing most of the time. Unfortunately Amaar can't take off like that.

"I don't have the time to take off. I have responsibilities," Amaar said with only a little bit of regret. There were times he missed having a disposable income and the freedom to do what he wanted, but was far more rich in life and love as the imam of the community.

"Hrrmpth," Nate said.

"Doesn't mean you can't go and do something fun," Amaar said, pointing at him with a fry. "Do you like theater? The Saskatoon Fringe Festival is starting in a few days."

"I was in a play once. I played Count Dracula's manservant, Victor with a hunch and this large fake eye." Nate wolfed down a bite and caught the ketchup on his chin and continued. "Ironic thing was that the last kid who wore the fake eye actually had pink eye so I ended up missing a week and a half of school and had to wear an eye patch because it had gotten so infected. And since we didn't have a lot of money for props, that was the only eye we had so I just wore my eye patch on stage. I was the only Transylvanian pirate to ever grace the stage," Nate said. He set his hamburger down for a moment, eyes cast upward in thought.

"'Arrr, master, the guests have arrived,'" Nate said, covering his eye with one hand.

Amaar popped the fry into his mouth, dusted the salt off his fingers and clapped.

"Hey, you know what we should do?"

"What?" Amaar asked.

"We should start our own theater troupe."

"There's already a community theater in Mercy," Amaar said.

"We should try out for something," Nate amended.

"You should audition for A Midsummer Night's Dream. There are posters all over the place advertising it and you'd make a good Puck," Amaar said and smirked lightly.

Nate looked like he had reservations about that suggestion. "What about you?"

"I have my fair share of standing in front of people and talking," Amaar said.

"You sermonize, not _act_. Besides, I know you like the spotlight. I saw you on public access. Which, by the way, Rayyan was fantastic. And did you know she responded to all her fan mail? I got her autograph."

"That's… nice," Amaar said, not needing to be reminded of that debacle, even if he did enjoy it in the beginning.

"Weren't you ever in a play in high school? College? Fancy lawyer school?"

"I prefer to watch plays, not be in them."

"If I try out, will you come to the audition and cheer me on?" Nate asked between a mouthful of fries.  
 "What are friends for?" Amaar asked, polishing off the last of his fries.

"Roadtrips and moral support," Nate said, taking another bite of the burger and Amaar laughed.

  
**iv. the idiot-rod**

Amaar walked across the street from the post office to Fatima's, desperately in need of coffee and a warm place to sit for awhile He buttoned the top of his jacket and shoved his gloved hands into his pockets.  
He was halfway across the street when he saw an old blue truck coming down Main Street, weaving back and forth, heading towards him and the sound of boisterous laughter that was nearly swallowed by the blistering cold. The truck honked at him and Amaar hurried out of the way only to see Nate slide by at jogging speed, but tied to the truck's hitch was a sled full children who were bundled up, swaying with the movement of the sled as Nate swerved the width of the road, picking up enough speed to head down to the corner and turn back around.  
   
"What the--"  
   
Amaar took back to the road, blocking the way until Nate slowed down.  
   
"Hey, hop in," he said.  
   
"What the _heck_ do you think you're doing?"  
   
"Offering you a ride. Sheesh."  
   
"No, I meant _them_," Amaar said, pointing to Masud, Ali and Derek in the sled. Yusuf sat in the bed of the truck, bundled up so that only his eyes and nose were peeking out from his tightly pulled hood.  
   
"What? I'm just their sled-dog," Nate said, throwing up a gloved hand.  
   
"You can't even see them when you're whipping them around in your blind spot," Amaar said. "And there's traffic--"  
   
"What traffic?" Nate asked. He was, after all, still stopped in the middle of the street with nary another car to be found. "Besides, it was all Yusuf's idea. Right Yusuf?" Nate asked.

"Yes," Yusuf said. Amaar rolled his eyes.  
   
"Salaam alaikum," Amaar said and then poked his head inside the cab of the truck. "Yusuf's never been sledding before so why don't you take them to Captain's Hill for sledding?" Amaar said.

"You must be a mind reader because that's exactly where we're going," Nate said. "Why don't you come along and make sure the kids get there in one piece? I'm sure there's room in the back." Nate stuck his head out the window. "Hey, is there room for Amaar back there?"  
   
"No!" the kids cried in unison as Yusuf answered with a dutiful "yes!"  
   
"Huh. Well, there's heat up here," Nate said. "And cocoa," he said and held up a large thermos.  
   
"Do your parents know where you are?" Amaar asked.  
   
"They know we're sledding with you," Masud said Ali and Derek nodded vigorously behind him. Amaar looked towards Fatima's where he could see her bickering with Baber. He could go and mediate that kerfuffle or he could make sure the kids get home in one piece… Amaar rubbed his hands together and got into the passenger side of the truck.

"Mush!" the kids cried.

The kids had careened down the hill, with Yusuf in between Derek and Masud as Nate rode with Ali. Amaar took the circular sled and took a running start and managed to make it all the way down the hill until hit a snow bump and was launched forward with enough force that he landed face first in the snow.

  
**v. meet the rashids**

Amaar was where he started, sitting on top of the roof of the mosque with the telescope angled towards the sky, waiting for nightfall. Waiting for his nerves to still and to feel confident and resolute about the next chapter of his life. In the meantime he had a blanket to keep the chill away, pizza, a book of Sudoku to work on until the sky filled with stars.

Amaar knocked his flashlight over when he reached for the pizza box. He was enjoying the solitude, his last week as a bachelor, away from the hubbub of wedding preparations where he didn't have to make any kind of decision or manage any fires started by two sets of parents who had very different ideas of what a modest, Muslim wedding would entail.

The scuffling coming from the ladder made Amaar sit up and Nate's head appeared, followed by a rectangular item in silvery blue wrapping paper that Nate set aside as he scrabbled onto the roof.

"So this is where you're hiding," Nate said, sounding victorious as if he'd found Amaar on a scavenger hunt and picked the item up once he had his bearings.

"I'm not hiding. I'm relaxing," Amaar said, trying his best to sound believable.

"Sure you are," Nate said. "Nice view," he murmured, glancing at the telescope and walked to the edge of the roof and looked around, taking in the quaint sight of Mercy at twilight.

"Want some pizza?" Amaar offered, nudging the box open.

"'Course," Nate said but didn't kneel to grab a slice.

"Something wrong?" Amaar asked.

"Yes. No. I mean, not really," Nate said, rubbing the back of his neck and he sat down beside Amaar, leaning against the shingles, knees drawn together. Nate balanced the wrapped item on his knees.

"So.. this is pretty awesome, you and Rayyan," Nate said.  
   
"Very awesome," Amaar said and the anticipation made the word get caught in his throat.  
   
"It changes things," Nate said and Amaar nodded.  
   
"Marriage does that," Amaar agreed.  
   
"Well, I mean, not just that. Things change between you and me.  It's not going to be Amaar and Nate anymore. It's going to be Amaar and Rayyan and then Amaar and Nate. Which I'm cool with, you know, because Rayyan's a great woman, but promise that it won't change too much. I never had many friends or people that I was closed to before," Nate said, fumbling through the rest of the sentiment. Amaar smiled and patted him on the shoulder.

"Nate, I'm always going to be your friend," Amaar said. "Nothing will change that fact. Not even getting married to Rayyan."

"Yeah… I know," he said and then foisted the wrapped item in Amaar's face. "I got you something," he said quietly.

A little taken aback, Amaar took the gift and held it up, feeling around the edges and watching how the silvery paper glimmered in the twilight. He peeled wrapping away and turned on the flashlight to get a decent look.

It was a framed photograph of him and Nate from their ridiculous camping misadventure. Amaar was posing with the fish he had thrown back while Nate slung one arm slung around his shoulder and pointed to Amaar's catch. They both wore very large grins.

"I want you to know that you really are my best friend and I'm very happy for you," Nate said.

Amaar was stunned and Nate somehow managed to sit quietly until Amaar rolled onto his knees and pulled Nate into a hug. "Thanks. I feel the same way," Amaar said and Nate did his bear squeeze like he usually did and patted his back. They settled themselves again, reclining against the roof and stared at the sky. After a few peaceful moments of reflection, Nate elbowed him.

"Isn't it almost time for your bachelor party?" Nate said. Amaar aimed the flashlight right into his face.

"Ow, heey, quit that! Fine, fine, no bachelor party," he said, grinning and blocking the light with an open palm. "Now where's that pizza…"

Amaar clicked the light off and set the pizza box between them and they waited for nightfall together. Nate offered bad honeymoon and marriage advice that Amaar _so_ didn't want to hear and Amaar challenged him to name as many constellations he could remember. When Nate had said something about Rayyan receiving mail as _Rayyan Rashid_, the anxiety in his chest was replaced with a lasting joy that would help him get over any and all wedding hurdles.

**Author's Note:**

> iii. a trivial comedy for serious people - from the stage play The Importance of Being Earnest  
> iv. the idiot-rod - reference to the Iditarod.


End file.
